


Secret Keeper

by elicitillicit



Series: Assorted Drabbles and Shorts [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-War, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 23:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4897141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elicitillicit/pseuds/elicitillicit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dudley feels abruptly uneasy as MacArthur leans further into the girl and whispers into her ear, and then there is a jolt in his stomach when he sees the girl jerk her right hand – the hand not holding his drunken and stupid teammate away from her – ever so slightly.</p><p>Half an inch of a wooden stick slides out of her sleeve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Keeper

It starts in a dodgy little pub on football night.

It’s only ten o’clock, but half his weekend rugby team is already smashed from taking bets on the wrong team and the other half is just – unaccountably _loud_. Dudley looks around the dimly lit, _man’s man_ space, wonders at the state of the washroom, and firmly resolves to get out of there before he needs to take a piss.

Timmins plonks a pint of beer in front of him, and sneers good-naturedly when Dudley shakes his head apologetically. “I dunno what you’re on about, mate; the _dad bod_ is _trendy,_ now, innit?”

He sighs. Getting his BMI down to the _healthy_ range was truly a fucking torturous exercise and he wasn’t going to blow it on empty calories. His teammate laughs and takes a swig. “You should be getting _out there_ , Dudders. Prowling the night. Picking up chicks. Not moping over – I don’t fucking know, you’ve been in a period of permanent _mope_ since I’ve known you.”

Dudley scrunches up his nose – that’s not exactly _true_ , but he can’t really remember the last time that he was actually _really_ happy, either.

“I mean, c’mon,” Timmins continues, sloshing more beer over his hand as he gestures towards a darkened corner of the already dark bar. “ _MacArthur_ was moping all week because he got _dumped_ last weekend, and now he’s fine! Chatting up girls and everything!”

He wants to say that MacArthur is a dipshit of the highest degree, but he keeps quiet and looks anyway –

\- And he freezes when he sees MacArthur leaning into a girl who _clearly_ , _obviously_ is not into it; not into him. She’s laughing, yes, but she’s also got a hand on his chest and her muscles are tense and Dudley, Dudley who spent a childhood bullying small children and his smaller cousin and was generally an expert at _crowding into personal_ space, feels his blood run cold. He remembers screaming and darkness and _fear_ of something bigger and he stands, pushing his shoulders back, and makes his way to MacArthur and the girl.

“- I can buy my own f- my _own_ whisky, thank you, it’s _fine_ ,” the girl is saying, smile knife-sharp in her face whilst her eyes are dark and flinty. Dudley feels abruptly uneasy as MacArthur leans further into the girl and whispers into her ear, and then there is a jolt in his stomach when he sees the girl jerk her right hand – the hand not holding his drunken and stupid teammate away from her – ever so slightly.

Half an inch of a wooden stick slides out of her sleeve.

Dudley’s last name is Dursley, but he is also half Evans and he was raised in a house with a mother who is exceptionally sharp and is terrifyingly good at uncovering secrets.

He hastily claps a hand on MacArthur’s shoulder and hauls him away from the girl, pasting a jovial smile on his face.

“Timmins has _beer_ for you, mate,” he says cheerfully, and moderates the well-meaning stupidity in his expression in response to MacArthur’s scowl.

“I’m _busy_ , Dud-”

“Yeah, but girls will always be here when you get back, mm? Timmins might _finish_ your beer.”

This gives MacArthur pause, and he leers at the girl before clapping Dudley on the shoulder and stumbling away towards the bar.

Dudley waits two and a half seconds before jerking his head towards the exit. The girl follows wordlessly as they climb a set of stairs that smell like the worst parts of the tube and emerge into a raucous Friday night in London. He nods to her, keeping an eye on her right sleeve, and begins to walk in the direction of the nearest bus stop.

“Wait!”

He doesn’t expect her to catch up with him, keeping up with his wider strides and looking somewhere between petulant and furious. “I had that _covered._ ”

“I know.” Dudley keeps on walking.

“I didn’t need you to waltz in there like a giant, fulfilling your stupid fucking white-knight quota for the year-”

Dudley halts, and so does she, eyes wide and startled as he stoops a little to look her in the eye. “I know.”

And he knows, immediately, that she knows that he _knows_. She takes half a step back before squaring her shoulders and huffing a quiet “ _Oh_.” She doesn’t ask why, or how, but offers him a half-smile. “Thanks. I’m Alicia, by the way.” 

He grunts an acknowledgment and resumes walking, fingers stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. “What were you _doing_ here, anyhow?” _What were you doing in_ our _side of London_ , he means, and she laughs.

“Watching football.” It isn’t until later (much later) that she admits that she can’t really get muggle channels on her telly, because they can’t afford to buy one that’s warded against magical interference – which there is a _lot_ of in their flat because Katie tends to bring home her work from the charm bracelet store.

They reach the bus stop, and Dudley motions towards a quiet space between two buildings. “You can disappear over there.” 

Alicia shakes her head and plops down onto the bench after a surreptitious glance at it. “My flat is around here. I can wait for your bus with you.” He shrugs and takes a seat, glaring mulishly out into the street whilst eyeing the girl beside him. “You don’t really _talk_ much, do you?” 

Dudley exhales heavily, and he thinks about explaining that he doesn’t really know what to _say_ , christ, because she’s party of _Harry_ ’s world, and he’d wanted nothing to do with it, because it brought darkness and sadness and it had killed his aunt and his uncle and it had killed Harry twice, and _what is she doing here and why is she talking to me?_

“I’m Dudley,” he blurts, looking at the concrete pavement and scuffing the toe of his sneakers against a crack. “Dudley Dursley.”

She looks confused.

“Harry Potter’s cousin,” he elaborates, figuring that everyone should know Harry Potter.

Alicia’s smile freezes for about half a second before it thaws. “Ah.”

There is silence for about two minutes as Dudley contemplates the probability of the ground opening up to swallow him whole.

“I was Harry’s quidditch teammate at school,” Alicia says, twirling a braid around one of her fingers. “We fought during the War. He never mentioned you.”

Dudley shrugs again, uncomfortable. “There isn’t much to mention. We aren’t close.”  _Understatement of the century_. 

Alicia peers at him, eyes bright, and it feels as if she’s peeling away the layers of his words to find the heart of them underneath. He feels both ashamed and free.

“Do you want to get some tea, sometime? We can work on your talking.”

Dudley squints at her suspiciously. “You won’t be reading the leaves or something, right?”

She laughs. “No. Divining the future is almost as useless as defining yourself by your past – at least, if you aren’t the same person any more.” She glances down at the spot that he’s looking at, and he can see the fingers on her right hand curling back towards her sleeve. “At least, that’s what I learned in the war.”

Dudley feels something _unclench_ in his chest, and it’s like he can finally fucking _breathe_ since the last time he saw his cousin in his old house on Privet Drive, when they were running for their lives and he was waiting for his death – even if he hadn’t known it. “Would you like to go for tea, now?”

 


End file.
